Planning My Brothers Death 2P Hetalia
by Chibi Cho no Gaara
Summary: WARNING THIS IS NOT THE REGULAR HETALIA CHARACTERS! THIS STORY DISPLAYS 2P!HETALIA CHARACRTERS. If you don't know what 2P!Hetalia is look it up or look inside the Intro for i will explain it there. Actual Summary inside. Rated M for cursing and gore
1. Into: I'll Be Damned

**HELLO EVERYONE. Chibi Cho no Gaara is back with a vengeance and with a new obsession. No, not just Hetalia. 2P!Hetalia. And I am here to grace you with my presence.**

**I hope that this story as wll as the 2p stories that I hope to make in the future will awaken the 2P!Hetalia fandom and bring more people to the darkside: Literally.**

**Alright so what is 2PHetalia? Well let me just steal this rrom an explanation one of my besties made.**

**'2P stands for 2nd Player. I believe it was to be based off a game and how the original character has a darker second. For an example: Super Smash Bros. Ever try choosing the same character twice? One is darker or a different colour? Basically that. **

**Himaruya made the Axis and Nyotalia Allies and Axis 2P!Characters.'**

**Meaning that 2P!Allies and other characters haven't been made yet… but there have been multiple fanons for all of them. :D**

**This story is basically like that. It is starring 2P!Alfred and 2P!Matthew (As humans not countries)**

**Basically 2P!Alfred is … well again quote from my friend.**

**'2P!America is more serious that regular America. He curses excessively and is a health nut. He despises all food that is bad for you. He carries that bat for defense, if it wasn't already obvious. . . And twitches when he comes in contact with 2P!England.**

** He doesn't really care much for 2P!England, if anything, he's quite nervous and freaked out by the daft Brit. He also feels that way for 2P!Canada. Who is said to have a nasty temper and won't hesitate to crack 2P!America one with a hockey stick. **

**Really, 2P!America is just a very cold, sadistic person. A sociopathic jerk, if you will. He talks trash but won't 'dish it out' until you've really angered him. Upon hurting someone, he's fond of the splattering of blood. It relaxes him and brings him to a state of content. Especially when you've finished the job and cracked the skull. Plus, he enjoys baseball and often visits the batting cage for practice, on and off field.'**

**As for 2P!Canada, He is quiet but that's because he greatly dislikes talking to people. However if he does speak to you be becomes very angry if you don't acknowledge him and will not hesitative to take his hockey stick and damage your body with it. He greatly dislikes his brother for his smart mouth and wise cracks and even if not provoked by him he will kick his ass just for the fact that he's being annoying. He doesn't put up with any of the shit that Canada puts up with and his bear is extremely violent…**

**Need more info? Look it up or message me.**

**Summary: Alfred is stick of it. Every single time he was the one to be laying on that hard wood floor, soaked in his own blood. Every single time. He couldn't take it anymore. Someone had to die, and he wasn't going down without a fight. And si he began to plot the Death of hid brother Matthew.**

Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

Alfred heard footsteps. Footsteps belonging to someone he knew very well. I man he hated with a burning passion.

Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

They got louder and closer. Alfred could tell that he was walking, but slowly the footsteps began to pick up the pace.

.

He was running now, Alfred tell that just from the sound his shoes made when they hit the hard wood floor. There was no escape Alfred knew that, but he would be damned if he went down without a fight.

He would be /damned/.

Before this, Alfred didn't have the balls to do it. After all how could he harm the man that he had been with for the majority of his life? But he was so sick and tired. Tired of being the one to be pushed around, tired of being to one hurt and tired of being the only one to shed blood.

No, not this time.

This time was different, so very different.

Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

….

Silence.

Dead silence.

Alfred knew exactly what this mean. The man that he had been hiding from now knew where he was. It was time to get ready. He grabbed onto a worn out wooden bat with nails sticking out of it. Some of them had rust, obviously old and worn out. However there were some that were gleaming bright silver in the dim light provided by the crack underneath the door. By the way the shined it was easy to tell that they had just been placed inside the bat recently. Not to mention that they were standing straight up and weren't bent to the side like the rusted ones were.

"Al…fred." It was a soft whisper. One that could barely be heard even though it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Somehow the soft whisper had made Alfred's blood run cold and something that was hardly seen in the American was present in his eyes; fear. Yes, he was scarred but in his defense he had every fucking right to be. This man had no mercy, no love, no compassion. Sure Alfred had very few of those things if any.

"Alfred…" The voice said again the door opening slightly, though Alfred was lost in his thoughts.

But he didn't understand.

How could you do such things…to your own brother?

"Found. You." The whisper said stressing all of the syllables found in those two little words. He turned off the lights a dark and emotionless look placed on his face. The man was holding a wooden hockey stick stained with dried blood, most likely belonging to Alfred.

Alfred stared up into those merciless eyes of his, and hesitated for a bit. He didn't want to fight him. Not only because he would probably loose, but because his brother was all he had. He had no one else in this world to turn too. Without his brother he was completely and utterly alone. How could he attack him?

But then he sat there and remembered. This man wasn't his brother by blood, only by adoption. Nor did this man care for him. Hell he was one hundred percent sure that he hated his very existence. Why the fuck should he give a damn and show any compassion for someone who wasn't even willing to try? This little piece of shit pissed him off to no end. Fuck, he would be better off alone.

"Hello to you too Mattie, you annoying little fuck." Alfred sneered.

'And in that moment he decided.'

Matthew twitched. "What did you just say? And how many times did I tell you not to call me that? Who the hell do you think you are?" He said in a clam but dangerous tone.

Alfred gave a dark smirk. "I think I am Alfred motherfucking F. Jones. And I think you are a little prick who needs to learn some manners." He said simply.

'There was no way he could win this battle.'

Matthew glared. "I see you have a death wish 'Alfred motherfucking F Jones'. Shall I grant you your wish?" He asked rhetorically.

"My wish? Sure," Alfred began, "But the only wish I have is for the obliteration of your existence."

'But he would win the war.'

Matthew snorted. "Is that so? Well then I'm sorry but your wish can't be granted." He said as he raised his hockey stick. "Now enough talk, it's time to end this." And with that he brought the hockey stick quickly down upon Alfred.

'Or die trying.'

However Alfred rolled, dodging the attack and held onto his bat firmly. "Fuck you Matthew." Was all he said before he lounged towards Matthew.

And they fought. They fought for a good half an hour. Matthew was greatly surprised by Alfred's sudden decision to fight back. Blood was shed on both sides, however Matthew was still stronger for he had much more experience.

Once again, Alfred laid on the ground bleeding while Matthew talked out of the room with only a few cuts and bruises as well as a few nails inside his body, but those could easily be removed.

However something was much different about Alfred, something had changed. However Matthew left to quickly to see it.

Alfred sat on the ground, his eyes darker, sick grin on his face as he laughed quietly to himself.

There was no going back now, for Alfred had already decided. He could no longer live like this.

Someone was going to die.

It was going to be either Matthew or himself.

And he would be damned if he went down without a fight.

He. Would. Be. DAMNED.

And so, this is how Alfred began to plot his brother's death.


	2. Chapter 1: Help From A Friend

A plan.

He had to make a plan.

But first, he had to get up from this floor.

He looked near him and found a brand to white sheet. It was bright and was made of lovely silk. Too bad it would have to get ruined. He reached over with his left arm, the one closet to the fabric. Well at least he tried to but winced in pain. Wonderful, his left arm was broken. He sighed hoping that his right arm wasn't or this would prove to be more difficult then it would have to. He groaned as he forced his body to turn over making sure not to crush his left arm under his own body. He reached for the cloth with his left arm and smiled when he grabbed a hold of it. Perfect, that means he only broke his left arm and needed only one sling. It didn't matter too much anyway though. After all, he was right handed anyway.

He took the white sheet and applies pressure to the any part of his body that was bleeding, which was a lot. He stayed like that for about a half an hour, until all his cuts and bruises were giving off only a little blood. When that was done he took the sheet that was now stained red and wrapped it around his body, attempting to get up. He forced himself to sit up and put his right arm on the ground turning around and putting both his knees on the ground. He stayed like that for a moment.

Okay good so far, neither of his knees were broken this time.

He tried to push himself up with his right leg and hissed in pain, a pain he knew too well.

His right ankle had been sprained, wonderful.

He quickly switched his legs forcing himself up with his left leg that was thankfully fine. He leaned himself against the wall sighing. It hurt a lot, but he had experienced worse.

Oh yes, he had experienced much worse.

So to him, this was absolutely nothing.

He glanced behind him to stare t the large puddle of blood behind him. It was a lot, due to the many times his brother had damaged him, he was able to tell it wasn't enough to make him light headed and pass out.

This was good, because he needed all the time he could possibly get.

So from there he limped all the way back to his room dripping blood all over the hard wood floor.

Now he understood better why they only had hard wood floors, so much easier to clean up the mess.

He walked into his room and dropped the now red sheet on the floor. He began to strip off his clothes and sighed at them with a frown. Blood was so hard to get out of clothes so he always ended up throwing them away. Good thing he made sure never to wear his favorite bomber jacket was his brother was in a cross mood. He learned that the first time. Luckily he was able to get most of it out, however you could still see dull splotches of red on it, especially where the fifty on the back was. He decided that he would probably burn the clothes outside later, no point in even trying to get the blood out now, especially since it was beginning to set. He took an old bathrobe and put it around him. He would probably just wear this and stay in his room tonight. That should be long enough for all the bleeding to stop and for his cuts to begin scabbing. He quickly went through one of his draws still limping and saw his collection of casts and slings that he had made himself. Hey, He had to find some way to medicate himself since there was no possible way his brother would take him to the hospital, not that he wanted to go anyway. Hospitals were filled with people who did nothing but complain about how they were going to die, it annoyed him with a burning passion. He grabbed his homemade arm sling and quickly set up his left arm inside it. He then looked at his ankle. It was swollen and warm to the touch, turning a nasty black and blue color. He tried to move it and winced. No good, it only moved slightly. That means for this particular damage he would need a splint. It was bad, but no to bad. He would still be able to go places if he was careful, and it could have been worse. He grabbed his homemade split and limped over to his desk sitting down at the chair next to it and applying it to his ankle. Once applied, he look at the laptop that was on his desk and turned it on, opening his routine tabs. Facebook, Youtube, Google and Creepypasta, and then he would turn on his Skype. While all of that was loading he looked through his desk draws and took out a pen and paper. He was going to have to take notes, maybe look up pervious murder cases. Yes he knew that for cases to be online would mean that the person at fault must have gotten caught, but he was going to improve it. Modify it. Maybe even combine a few ideas. He was serious about his decision, he just needed to find the perfect way and the perfect timing, everything had to be perfect. So he began by typing in something general into Google first. 'Previous Murder Cases'. Yes, for now this would be fine. He understood that this whole panning thing would take some time, and he was okay with that. He just needed to get it done.

He researched for about an hour completely in the zone. That's why he was so excited to hear a sudden ringing noise. He jumped slightly dropping the pen that had been in his hand, almost having a heart attack. However he sighed in relief when he saw that it was someone trying to contact him on Skype. It was his friend Im Yong Soo asking for a video conference. He debated declining it for a moment but figured he could use some help. After all, Im Yong Soo understood Alfred better than anybody, too bad he lived all the way in North Korea. He could really use a friend like him right about now. He pressed accept.

Once accept was pressed Im Yong Soo appeared on screen. The Korean boy of sixteen, same age as Alfred was currently smoking a cigarette. His brown hair was a mess as usual and his somewhat of a mixture of gold and hazel eyes had a dullness to them- as usual. He let out a puff of smoke which sort of fogged up the webcam a bit before speaking. "Your brother fucked you up again huh?" He said in a nonchalant tone. His thick Korean accent was apparent as he sounded neither surprised nor worried.

"Basically." Alfred responded simply as he reached down to get his pen and began to write down ideas on his piece of paper again.

It was quiet for a moment before Yong spoke again, finding his cigarette more interesting than the actual conversation. "How bad is it?" He asked.

Alfred shrugged. "Cuts, bruises, left arm is broken, right ankle is sprained." He said simply.

Yong Soo took another puff of smoke, letting it out. "So all in all not that bad." He said. He was dead serious and wasn't trying to be funny at all. Alfred simply nodded. Yong Soo gave a sigh and watched his American friend through his computer. "So what are you up too now?" He asked observing the situation. He noticed the American was unusually serious and calm bout the situation when usually he would sit and bitch for a good hour. He could see the difference in his eyes and noticed he was so interested in the piece of paper that he was writing on that he hadn't even looked up at the screen once. Yong was very observant of these types of things. He was also pretty confident that he knew Alfred even more than Alfred knew himself. "You are looking very concentrated. Also, you wouldn't have accepted my video request if you didn't want to tell me about it, whether the motion to click the accept button was voluntary or on accent." He said as he took the cigarette out of his mouth and put it out in the ashtray nearby.

Alfred snickered slightly at this. "As observant as ever I see." He said simply as he stopped writing and put the pen down. "This is what I've been working on." He said not saying it allowed but showing him a piece of paper. At the top of the page was 'Planning My Brothers Death' and under it were a bunch if ideas, organized in a certain manner.

Yong Soo looked at the piece of paper and shrugged at it, as if it was completely normal. "So you are serious about this." He said, not making it a question but a statement. He didn't need to ask, since Alfred's whole body language had changed.

"Yeah, I am." Alfred said without hesitating. His mind was set.

Yong Soo stared at Alfred through the web cam. "Well then, I suppose I could help out a bit." He said simply. "But first, you should rest. To pull off something like this you need a clear head and you must be completely focused. It's like eleven at night where you are right? Sleep."

Alfred would usually argue about this, trying to convince the man that he was fine but he simply nodded. Alfred was one to make bluffs and to fool around often but this one time he was not playing any games. He refused to get caught either. After all, Alfred knew well that Im Yong Soo was experienced with these type of things, him having hinted the killing of a few men himself. Of course he didn't elaborate but Alfred didn't need him to. "Alright Yong Soo, I'll talk to you later then, hopefully I'll be in better shape in the morning."" He said giving a small growl. "That fucking bastard is dead." He mumbled.

Im Yong Soo simply nodded. "Yes Yes Alfred, I know. Well then, _jal jja._" He said wishing Alfred a good night before cutting off the web cam.

Alfred sighed at the finished conversation and got up from his desk. He winced slightly as he limped over to his bed and simply fell on it so he was lying on his back. He stared at the ceiling until he finally willed himself to go to sleep.


End file.
